


Under Your Fingers

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Basketball hurts like hell sometimes, when you’re this close to the finish line and you stop to look around and it’s all ripped from you like a bee sting embedded in your arm.





	Under Your Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bday fic for tatsuya but it's all about taiga what can i say...it's been like. 10 months?? since i wrote these 3 in canonverse

Tatsuya lets him sulk, one of the tiny infinite things Taiga’s grateful for. Tatsuya understands (how could he not when Taiga had learned so much about how to hate losing from him?) and were he in the same position it’s not even a question of whether he’d be worse or not. He’d try to hide it, though, probably, and then those thoughts start to take Taiga to a universe where Tatsuya’s the one in the NBA and he’s the white-collar worker, and those thoughts are dangerous (not in the same way as the ones where they’re all three playing pro, or to the same extent, but still like a live wire in the cells of his brain).

Sulking doesn’t do shit; he’d still lost and it doesn’t change that. It doesn’t magically open up some desire to win that hadn’t been there before; it doesn’t make him learn automatically from everything that had gone wrong. It’s gratifying, though, to wallow in it, to sleep in until twelve and reach out for Tatsuya next to him, cuddle him close and whine at him and hear the slightly amused tone of Tatsuya’s voice that says of course he’s humoring him. (Then, Alex tells him not to and Tatsuya’s arms settle on top of Taiga’s around his waist and Taiga smiles into his shoulder. It’s not like Alex never indulges either of them; she just does it a little differently.)

As much as he can dwell and hold it all, it starts to sink out of him soon; it’s day three of the season being over and locked behind him, two days after the locker room cleanout. The disappointment isn’t fading but the overwhelming sensation of failure is, or more accurately it already has. He’s still going to clutch at Tatsuya, though, nuzzle his shoulder, roll over on top of him and reach for Alex.

“Feeling better?” says Tatsuya.

“Mm,” says Taiga, grinding his hips against Tatsuya like he’s been starved and—it’s not like post-loss sex is good, but it’s still all about losing.

“That’s a yes, then,” says Alex, sleep clinging to her voice like cobwebs to the neglected front gate of a brownstone. “Good.”

Her fingers thread loosely into his, comfortable but not like she’s been waiting for him too long.

* * *

Envy isn’t the right word for the way Taiga feels when he watches Alex and Tatsuya play streetball. It’s maybe similar on the surface, like a rough sketch from far away by a nearsighted person, and maybe there are shades of it in there. It’s nothing like the way he plays basketball with either of them; they’re playing similar styles but they mesh in a different way. There are still times, when he’s been on a long road trip and he has to take a stutter step to match back up with them (and most of the time he’s playing against them, not with them). It’s in this world of streetball that he can’t quite touch, corotating bodies with the game he plays, orbiting the same star.

But he still gets to watch it, leaning against the fence, the cuffs of his hoodie slipping down on his wrists. It’s a little warm to be dressed like this, but no one gives him a second glance; no one stops him to ask how the fuck the Clippers choked on their 3-2 series lead. He’s just here, watching the two of them, the way they know each other so well they don’t have to think or ask. Pass, step, block, a shot off Tatsuya’s fingers that doesn’t quite meet its mark but Alex already there to grab the rebound from exactly where it’s going to end up. The casual fist-bump when she drains a long three, that morphs into her slapping his ass and Tatsuya grinning just bright enough to see from Taiga’s vantage point.

Basketball hurts like hell sometimes, when you’re this close to the finish line and you stop to look around and it’s all ripped from you like a bee sting embedded in your arm. They lost; the feeling weighs heavy on Taiga’s tongue and chest. They lost, and it hurts, but he can’t not love it. He can’t not love watching Alex and Tatsuya like this, the motor between them beginning to hum and suspend itself in the air, the way their opponents fall further and further behind. It’s too strong not to suck him in, flatten the residuals of his sulking, and make him tap his feet, clutch the links of the fence tighter. He wants to be out there; he needs to be out there. He needs a basketball under his fingers instead of the empty air, a hoop and between it and him only people to jump over, move past, ignore and take the long J.

Alex and Tatsuya’s is the last of the night; everyone’s got work and school and daily lives to go back to. The night’s not going to go forever, especially not this late in May. But they already know, Tatsuya spinning the ball on his finger the way he did when they were kids, every bit as captivating now, and Alex talking to one of the guys who’s been doing this longer than they have. Tatsuya jerks his head at the hoop, and a quick glance down tells Taiga his shoes are good enough (though they rarely aren’t).

The mirage shot hangs suspended like the moon in the air. Tatsuya hates to do it now but still does; he won’t say as much but Taiga knows it’s for him. He watches it, trains his eyes, and it still vanishes. Tatsuya’s got a head start; he’s already been playing, but Taiga catches up quick enough, meeting his shots with blocks and rebounds, his attempts to steal with a fake or meeting him and driving past. Tatsuya’s more patient, though, still (it’s more accurate to say he’s good at faking patience enough to outlast Taiga) and he waits, makes him commit. Taiga’s fast but not fast enough to get him every time, the burst of energy that sends Tatsuya past and up into a shot, the quick drop straight through the hoop. Alex’s laughter breaks the haze in the air.

“You two are too much.”

“You want to, too,” says Tatsuya, and she doesn’t deny it.


End file.
